Prologue #2
“Fuck,” I whisper. My voice breaking. “What am I supposed to do with all this stuff?”
My eyes burn as I stare at the endless sea of memories left behind.
“What am I supposed to do, period?”
I'm spiraling into a dark hole, when a crash echoes from the other room. My tears are suddenly gone as instincts kick in and I push the fear down, letting it shift into something else.
Survival.
I grab a knife off the counter, and move slowly toward the noise while my heart hammers in my chest. The house is suddenly too quiet.
I peek around the corner and come face-to-face with… a cat.
We both jump.
“Holy shit you scared me!” I breathe, pressing a hand to my chest as Fat Louie lll blinks up at me, utterly unbothered. He proceeds to sit and casually lick his paw like he didn’t just almost send me into cardiac arrest.
Of course. How could I forget about the cat?
Grandpa got him a couple of years ago. Or rather, he just showed up at the front door one day and decided to stay. Naturally, Grandpa let him.
“Louie! What the hell? You could’ve scared me half to death.” I pause, tensing. “Too soon. I know. But fuck.”
He lets out a soft meow, rubbing against my leg and something in my chest aches.
“I know, I miss him too.” My voice comes out quieter than I mean. I crouch down, so I can scratch him behind his ears. “I guess it's just you and me now, pal.”
Great. Now I’m talking to the cat like he can actually understand me.
I push up from the floor and force myself to move. I need a distraction. I need something to do.
I ping-pong around the house, tidying up, taking out the trash, doing dishes. Tasks that offer a small, fleeting sense of normalcy. I'm going to pretend that if I keep my hands busy, maybe my mind will quiet for a while.
By the time I make it to the office, my arms are full of mail I’ve gathered from around the house. I drop the stack onto the desk, but as I do, something catches my eye.
There's a black envelope with my name written across the front in familiar handwriting. My heart skips a beat and I rush forward, shoving the rest of the mail aside. My fingers tremble as I tear it open, careful not to damage whatever’s inside.
The moment I unfold the letter, goosebumps spread across my skin.
Yep. Here comes the waterworks.
I press the paper to my chest, squeezing my eyes shut, trying to hold it together, but all I can do is breathe through the flood of emotion as silent tears stream down my face.
This sucks.
I draw a shaky breath before finally looking down to read.
I read the letter six more times, crying harder each time. I flip it over, searching for more, but it’s just as blank as it was the first time I looked.
A pang of selfish disappointment hits me. That can't be it. He always had more to say, always had one last story to tell, one last lesson to sneak in while I wasn’t paying attention.
Why couldn’t he have written a little more?
I rush back to the desk, tearing through the envelope while I check it again.
Empty.
My mind races. Something I want to give you?
Then it hits me. Louie.
Of course.
I glance at the cat, who’s currently sprawled on the floor, licking his paw like he has zero concerns in the world.
“You wouldn't last a day out there on your own.” He doesn’t even look up. Probably because he knows I’m right. Spoiled little shit wouldn’t make it past breakfast.
With a sigh, I turn back to the desk, planning to clear off the rest of the papers, but I see something else.
As soon as I lift the mess of envelopes and bills, I freeze.
It's a cute gold key with a thin black ribbon tied around it.
Umm… okay?
It looks like one of those old vintage keys. I frown, turning it over in my fingers. What am I supposed to do with this? What does this even go to? I glance back at the letter, hoping for some kind of clue, but it’s silent as ever.
“You’re kidding me, right, Grandpa? Is this some kind of joke?”
No answer, of course.
Louie, however, meows loudly behind me, making me jump again. “LOUIE. What did I just say about sneaking up on people?”
My pulse is still hammering in my ears, but the cat just stares at me with his unblinking, I-know-you’re-an-idiot look before rubbing against my leg like I’m the one who scared him.
He is so lucky he’s cute.
I sigh, rubbing a hand down my face. “I’m all you’ve got now, so you better start acting right.”
Unbothered, he sits back down and resumes licking his paw.
With another deep breath, I refocus on the desk, clearing off more papers and searching for anything that might tell me what the key is for. Or if there’s something I’ve missed.
Before I get too far into my search, my phone vibrates in my pocket.
Pulling it out, I glance at the screen. It’s Chance. And I already know what the message will say before I even open it.
Chance: Hey babe, boss is losing his shit, and I’m stuck in this meeting. No way I can leave. We’ve got a deadline. I’ll make it up to you later or something. You got this. Love ya.
I shove my phone back in my pocket, annoyed at his response, but not at all surprised.
Shocking.
I let out a slow, frustrated breath. He’s been buried in this project for what feels like forever, and I’m always the one left waiting in the background.
I don’t have the time or energy to unpack the emotional back-and-forth with him right now. I’ve cried enough for today. I’m sure he’ll tell me when he’s planning on coming later. Hopefully.
I swallow the lump in my throat and shove the thought aside. I’ll deal with it when the time comes. Whenever that is. Until then, I’m on my own.
Again.
I finish clearing off the desk, tossing aside the last few loose papers and picking up a few books that need to go back on the shelf.
When I get to the bookshelf, I see a book with a deep mahogany cover.
It has hints of gold lettering etched into the spine.
The book stands out because I’m one thousand percent sure I’ve never seen this book before.
The edges are all scuffed, the binding is worn, and the gold is nearly faded from years of handling.
I carefully pull it from the shelf as my fingers brush over the unreadable title. The leather is smooth but aged and it feels ancient. The spine cracks when I open it and the sound is way too loud in the quiet room.
The first several pages are blank, nothing but faded paper stares back at me. Okay? I flip through a few more pages, my brows pulling together. Every page is empty.
Just as I’m about to give up and shove it back on the shelf, something shifts. This page has words scrawled in delicate slants of ink that stand out against the aged paper. It looks like my grandmother’s handwriting.
My pulse stumbles.
Her stories. Witches and warriors, Fae and shadows, magic hidden in the world’s forgotten corners. I always wondered if she got them from old books or if she made them up. Sometimes, she made it sound like they weren’t made up stories at all.
I turn another page and there's more handwritten notes. My hands won't stop shaking.
Before I can make sense of it, my phone rings. The sharp noise shatters the moment, yanking me back. I exhale, setting the book down with an almost reluctant hesitation before reaching for my phone.
I expect it to be Chance. But when I glance at the screen, my stomach flips.
Rachel.
A wave of disappointment crashes over me that it’s not Chance, harder than I care to admit. I shouldn’t be surprised. I shouldn’t even be upset. And yet, I am.
Shoving the feeling aside, I swipe to answer.
“Hey,” I say, forcing some semblance of normalcy into my tone. But she doesn’t buy it.
We chat for a few minutes keeping the conversation light but careful. Catching up on the small things that somehow feel much bigger now. She listens, offering comfort without pushing too hard, and doesn’t hang up until she’s convinced I’m actually okay.
Before we say goodbye, she makes me promise to text her regular updates so she doesn’t have to call every hour to make sure I’m not crying on the couch again.
Three more days until she’s back.
After the call ends, I put my focus back on tidying up, hoping the mundane act of putting things in order might help settle the storm inside me. Despite the hours spent sorting through memories, I still haven’t found anything that hints at what the key might open.
And Chance still hasn’t called me back.
Exhaustion sinks deep in my bones, but oddly enough, the chaos does feel a little lighter. It's not gone, but a little less suffocating.
The steady rhythm of one of my favorite songs fills the kitchen, pulling me into its beat as I move through the motions of cracking eggs, buttering toast, and flipping bacon. It’s almost enough to push back the weight of yesterday.
Almost.
A knock at the door cuts through the music and I freeze, spatula hovering over the pan. I reach over to turn the music down, grabbing a towel. I don't know why I'm so jumpy, it's probably just . I dry my hands and make my way to the door and when I open it, my breath catches.
A package sits on the doorstep with my name scrawled across the top. Whoever left it is already gone.
A nervous kind of anticipation that I don’t quite understand floods my system and my fingers itch to open it. I scoop it up and nudge the door closed with my foot.
Setting the package on the counter, I grab a knife. My pulse quickens as I slide the blade through the tape. The cardboard flaps spring open, and I can see a really old wooden box.
The wood is smooth and dark, but it’s the carvings that hold my attention. Intricate patterns swirl and weave across the surface, and the designs almost seem to dance under the light. The craftsmanship on this thing is impeccable.
I run my fingers lightly over the surface, tracing the pattern, half-expecting to feel something click into place.
“What are you?” I mutter under my breath.
The box opens and I go still, staring at what’s inside.
My attention is immediately drawn to two stones.
A white crystal and a black stone. Both are raw and unpolished.
The crystal shines with a soft, ethereal light, and it almost feels like it's humming with energy.
The stone is the opposite, absorbing the light around it. This one is dark and mysterious.
I reach out hesitantly, and my fingertips brush the crystal and the moment they do, a gentle warmth spreads through me, like sunlight melting into my skin. It's barely there, but it feels comforting. Or maybe it's all in my head.
Then, I pick up the stone.
A sharp jolt shoots through my palm. It's instant. It’s not warm or gentle like the other one. It feels heavy and…demanding. A chill runs down my spine and I yank my hand back.
What the hell was that?
I shake it off, flexing my fingers, but it still hums under my skin. Forcing myself to refocus, I glance back into the box, trying to make sense of everything inside.
There's a braided rope with three different colored ribbons. I don’t know what it is, but it’s beautiful.
I reach in, lifting it carefully out of the box.
The ribbons are impossibly soft, yet strong, somehow time itself couldn’t fray it.
There's even little vines intertwined with the braid, growing through the ribbons like they grew between them.
One is a deep, earthy green. It’s rich and vibrant, and pulsing with life. I don't know how else to explain it. The second one is a soft ivory color, its edges are slightly aged, but still intact. But it’s the last one that steals my breath.
A gold ribbon. Not fabric, not silk, but something else entirely. It shimmers, shifting like captured sunlight and it's so fucking soft.
I swallow hard, running my fingers over the length of the braid, finding a crescent moon pendant at the end of it. The gold surface is smooth and cool between my fingers.
There's little carvings etched along the curve of it. Its stunning. They have to mean something, I just don’t know what. At the other end of the rope, I notice a jagged edge. It looks like maybe it was a star?
I wonder if it’s hidden somewhere at the bottom of the box.
I glance back into the box and freeze.
Umm, what?
At the bottom, is a dagger, unlike anything I’ve ever seen. The blade catches the light, daring me to pick it up. But it’s the hilt that really pulls me in, the details are so precise, and so deliberate, that my fingers itch to trace them.
A beautiful moonstone is embedded into the handle, its iridescent shimmer shifts every time I tilt it. Soft blues, purples, and greens dance as if the stone holds the sky inside it. The contrast against the dark metal makes it stand out even more.
My fingers brush the cool hilt before wrapping around it completely. The dagger is solid and cold. But I swear I can feel something pulsing, almost like a heartbeat.
My breath slows, and I tighten my grip, turning it over, and run my fingers along the details. It’s deadly and beautiful, and something about it feels so familiar.
The blade itself is just as stunning. Ancient runes are etched into the steel, each delicate mark seamlessly blending into the next.
A slow exhale escapes my lips. This is mine. The realization sends a shiver down my spine, settling deep in my bones. I force myself to set the dagger down, but my pulse keeps thrumming in my ear as my mind races.
Oooh what's this? Tucked neatly into the corner of the box is a small velvet bag. I pick it up and find a necklace in there. I try to lift it out carefully, turning it over in my palm. The design is as striking as the dagger.
In the center, there's a crystal that's flickering like lightning, pulsing with an energy that hums against my skin. Twisting vines and intricate metal details weave around it. There’s a snake that coils through the design, the scales are gleaming like a silent warning.
Like nature and something else have been fused together.
It’s exquisite.
And like everything else in this box, it hums with energy.
I swallow hard. Well. This is weird, but cool as hell.
I glance back inside and my stomach flips when I spot two more things. A white envelope and a second key.
It’s the envelope that has my breath stalling. Everything else fades away as I press my thumb along the seal, the edges are soft and worn, meaning this wasn't written recently.
“Seriously?” I mutter, rolling my eyes with a small, breathless laugh. More secrets. Of course.
With a flick of my fingers, I tear open the envelope. My pulse quickens as I unfold the letter, taking a slow breath, and begin to read.